Brotherly Love
by Transatlantic Inklings
Summary: Susan and Peter have always been close, but how close is too close? What is a normal relationship between siblings? A joint effort from Francienyc and Rootyboots.
1. Chapter 1

"**After a bit, Susan came down from the tree. She and Peter felt pretty shaky when they met and I won't say there wasn't kissing and crying on both sides. But in Narnia no one thinks any worse of you for that." _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe._**

_Helen Pevensie pulled her dressing gown close around her and bit her lip as she looked at her sleeping husband. How? How could she tell him? He would be terribly angry, and the thought of his anger doubled her nausea. Maybe she could lay back down and convince herself she was dreaming, sleepwalking. A flash of an image, two young bodies twined together on the narrow bed flashed through her mind. She pressed her fingers to her mouth, forcing herself not to be sick, but she couldn't contain a gag._

_David awoke, and he frowned when he saw her. "Helen, what are you doing there? Are you sick?"_

_She pressed both hands to her mouth and shook her head._

"_You look sick," he observed rather tiredly, sagging against the pillows._

_She couldn't move. She couldn't move and she couldn't speak. She knew she had to tell him, but she couldn't._

_He realized there was something wrong, and he sat up. "Whatever it is, Helen, tell me, and tell me quick. Is it the children? Are they alright?"_

_She could only shake her head._

"_Is it Lucy? Is she sick? Is Edmund alright? Tell me now."_

_He was truly alarmed, but he guessed wrongly. Of course no one would ever guess that some mishap with the children could involve their two eldest. They were the steadiest, most responsible…She closed her eyes and said it as fast as she could. She tried not to listen to herself as she spoke. "It's Susan. And Peter. I went down the hall to the toilet and I found them in Peter's room. They were laying together on his bed with—with their arms around each other." She saw that he was about to speak, but she put up a hand to stop him. She had to get this all out in one breath. "She was saying 'Don't ever leave me, Peter. I love you. I couldn't survive without you.' "_

_David's eyes widened. "What did he do?" he asked in a dangerous voice._

_She faltered a bit when she heard his tone of voice. "He—he promised he wouldn't. He said he loved her and he—he had his hands on her. He kissed her."_

_Before she finished speaking he had leapt out of bed and stuffed his arms in his dressing gown. "Where are they? This must be dealt with _right now_."_

"_I sent them down to the study so you could talk to them," she said in a rushed whisper. She was staring at the floor as he brushed passed her. She didn't want to know anymore, but he turned on the threshold. "Let's go, Helen. We must do something about this."_

_She let her arms go limp as she turned to follow him downstairs. He wound himself up to a lecture the whole way down. Though she tried not to listen she couldn't help hear certain phrases "Disgusting…unnatural…never would have thought it of them…beat it out of them if I have to…" She didn't want to agree, but she had to. Where did her best children go wrong?_

Peter was laughing. The sound of it rang out across the garden, and she smiled because he was so happy. She liked to think that she had something to do with it. She leaned back against her husband, breathing in his scent. When he pulled her close she could feel his heart beating, and his laugh boomed and echoed in his chest. She closed her eyes, and he bent over her and kissed her.

When she opened them, Peter was standing before her holding her son high above his head. Dashiel was laughing his bright baby laugh and squirming gleefully. He reached for Peter's face with his chubby little hand, and the High King looked positively delighted. Yet the smile he wore grew when he saw his wife by his side. Amelia was already big with child, yet she moved with a stately, motherly grace. Peter brought Dash close to his body and held the baby with one arm. He wound the other around his wife's waist and kissed her, fairly radiating love and joy.

Her husband pulled her tighter, and he said in her ear "They certainly are happy, those two."

She reached her hand behind her to stroke his beard. "As are we, my love."

"Mm," he murmured lowly in agreement, and he kissed her temple, her neck, her cheek, and at last, he turned her chin toward him and kissed her mouth. She could taste his mouth, but when she opened her eyes she found herself staring into the thick dark of her English bedroom. She could still feel Erech's mouth on hers even though he was not there. In the next bed, Lucy sighed and turned in her sleep, sounds which solidified Susan's awful reality. She leapt from bed as if she were going to be sick and bolted for the hall. She leaned against the wall, tears streaming down her face. She tried to swallow her sobs. If Lucy heard she would wake up and try to comfort her with thoughts of Aslan, but that was exactly what Susan couldn't bear. She needed someone who would understand. She went down the hall a little bit and pushed Peter's door open.

He was facing the doorway, the peace of sleep relaxing his features. She noticed, though, that the line which appeared on the inside of his eyebrow when he was troubled was there now. Just looking at him gave her some comfort, and she padded quietly into the room and slipped into bed beside him.

When he felt her weight beside him he shifted and asked blearily, "Amelia?"

He was asking for his wife. He still expected to share his bed with her, as she expected to share her life with Erech. Only they had all been ripped apart by a wrong turn at a lamppost, and now Erech and Amelia had been dead for a thousand years while she was a girl and Peter a boy again. She couldn't stop her sobs now, though she tried to weep silently.

She didn't know if Peter felt her shaking or heard her crying, but he sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Su?" he asked bemusedly. "What's wrong?"

She hadn't meant for him to wake up, really. She just wanted to feel that he was close, that he understood. And she certainly didn't want him to see her cry. She couldn't seem to stop now, though. She covered her face with her hands to try and hide it. "Sorry," she mumbled.

Peter turned to look at her more carefully. "You're crying," he observed. "What's wrong?"

She couldn't speak for a minute, and he put his head on the pillow to watch her face. She tried in vain to compose herself, managing only to say "I dreamt about Erech."

She was right. Peter understood at once. He made a soft noise of sympathy and brushed the hair off her face. She rolled off her back and onto her side so she could hide her face against his pajama top, clutching the fabric of it in her hands. She wiped her eyes on the fabric and apologized again.

When Peter spoke his voice was very quiet, and she knew he was trying not to sound as though he was about to cry. "Don't be sorry. I know." He held her tightly, and she clung to her last comfort and let herself cry. He cradled her head and held her with all the comfort he knew how to give, but she also felt him draw in a shaky breath. He was very close to tears. Seeing Peter grieving so made her sadder than ever, and she shook in his arms, utterly miserable.

"I want him back" she said in a small voice.

"I know. I know."

"It's not fair," she insisted. "I think of Amelia…It's not _fair_, Peter!"

He shuddered. "Don't. I can't take it."

She didn't want to make him ache too. She bit hard on her lip, scrunching up her face, trying to hold it all in.

Peter saw her pain, and his voice was gentler. "I'm sorry. You came to me to cry and I… It's so hard for me to talk about her, though. I miss her all the time."

Susan saw Amelia in her mind's eye. Her dear friend. Her other sister. "So do I," she agreed thickly. Then with the picture of Amelia she saw all of them. She hiccupped as she spoke, breathing spasmodically. "And Dash, and Edina, and…and Lucien…and Susannah…and all of them."

She saw a brief glimpse of the grief in Peter's eyes when she mentioned his children before he covered his face. She buried her face against Peter's neck, sharing in his grief. Hot tears trickled from her eyes and she shuddered at the thought of her lost family, who she loved so well and so wholly. Peter seemed to recover a little in giving her comfort, at least enough to hold her tightly and repeat "Su, it's alright. It's alright," even if his voice was heavy.

"It's not," she said. "It's not alright to do this to us. I don't understand…"

When she drew back a little she saw that Peter had set his jaw as he always did when he was feeling something very deeply but wanted to appear stoic and strong. "I don't either, but there's got to be a reason. I just don't know what it is, or how to find out."

His strength dissolved her tears a little. She looked up at him and sniffed, all gratitude for a brother she could depend on like Peter.

He kissed her forehead. "We'll figure out something," he said rather vaguely. "We have each other. Now that will have to be enough."

She looked up at him numbly and nodded a very little bit. Then, seeing his hazel eyes so full of emotion but the rest of his face set gave her a rush of affection. She hugged him tightly. "Oh, I'm glad I have you, Peter."

He looked very touched, and he rubbed her back. "We've gotten each other through a lot before. We'll just have to do so now." Susan sniffed, but he pressed on. "Promise me you'll stay with me, Susan."

"I will," she said with conviction. "I'll never leave you. I promise." Then he held her and she clung to him for a minute as if all they had in the world was each other. This wasn't strictly true, and Susan would realize that in the morning. For the moment though, she let herself hold on more tightly than she would have otherwise dared.

After a minute or two, Peter sniffed and said, "At least we have our memories. Come on, tell me about something you remember. We can be happy that way for a little while."

"It's all…it's all getting hazy," Susan faltered. "Some days I can barely see them." She concentrated hard, though, and finally came up with something concrete, something beyond vague but strong impressions of love. "I remember Dashiel's black hair. And Edina's hair was brown…chestnut brown." Peter was searching her face now, his eyes willing her to remember. She thought harder. "I remember Erech's scent. Bonfire smoke, and something sweet, like jam." She raised her eyes and saw a smile on Peter's face. Still, she had to confess to him. "But sometimes I try to picture his face, and I can't."

"Don't you remember his voice? I always hear his voice," Peter said, rubbing her arm a little.

She smiled a sad, tiny smile. "Sometimes. What do you hear him saying?"

"Anything really. Sometimes when I'm in class and there are all those brownnosing boys, I think of what he would say about them. He's like…a barometer, reminding me to be true to myself."

Susan thought of the honest, frank man she had married, and she couldn't bear to talk about him anymore. Her lips trembled and she spoke quickly to hide this. "What about you? What do you remember?"

"Everything," he answered at once.

She was surprised he could remember so clearly when everything seemed to be slipping away from her. "Really?" she asked, looking at him with careful awe.

"Every detail. It hurts, but I can see her right now," he answered, and his eyes looked past her into a dark corner of his room where presumably he could see his wife. "Her hair was thick and soft and heavy when I held it in my hands." Just this one memory was enough to make Susan's lip wobble, but she looked down. She didn't want him to see her cry, she wanted to hear him. She wanted to know that he could hold onto memories for the both of them. She saw a tear drip onto the pillow, and she knew it wasn't hers. "Her voice is so soothing, like hearing a babbling brook on a hot day or music coming from another room. I can hear her singing to Lucien, and I can feel Susannah in my arms, and her smile and how it felt when she kissed me…what it was like to hold her in my arms—"

She couldn't bear anymore. She broke down again, moaning "Oh God…Oh Aslan," and this time Peter cried just as hard as she did.

"I can't bear the weight of all these memories, but I can't let them go," he said.

She wiped her face with her hand, rubbing up and down. "I don't know how else to go on," she confessed in a whisper.

He took hold of her wrists. "Don't forget, Su. Don't. That would break his heart."

"But he's already dead, Peter…he's gone. He died so long ago. And I wasn't with him. His heart broke over a thousand years ago." Her voice started to grow hard and bitter.

"But…don't you believe that there's something beyond this? There must be," Peter ventured, and for a second he sounded like Lucy.

She couldn't look at him when she said "I don't see how there can be. I stopped believing in heaven a long time ago." Her voice, though, remained low with anger. "No loving God could hurt us so badly."

"No, Su. No. There's got to be a heaven," Peter insisted, sounding grieved. "I hold on to that, because if there is then we'll all be together again. And maybe they're watching us right now."

Susan shook her head, rubbing her face on her brother's chest, scratching her face against the rough fabric of his pajamas. He wrapped his arms around her again, offering words of comfort. "Shh. It's alright, Susan. I'm here."

"I love you, Peter," she said brokenly. "You're always there, no matter what. I don't know what I would do if you weren't."

He smoothed the hair off her face and kissed her forehead. "Don't worry. I always will be. Always."

She felt so fragile. All her safety, every delicate thread holding her together was wrapped up in Peter. He knew. He felt what she felt and he still believed. If she could cling to him, lean on him, perhaps she would be alright. She needed him and this knowledge prompted her to say. "I would die if you left me."

She knew what he would say even before he said it. "I won't, Su. I won't," in his clear, sure voice.

"You—all of you—you're all I have left," she said, looking up at him. She clutched the fabric of his pajamas in her fists again.

He moved to kiss her cheek again, but suddenly the door opened and light from the hallway flooded in. Susan registered the change in light before she heard her mother cry, "Susan! What are you doing?"

She was so startled she jumped up to face her mother. Her voice was shaky though she wasn't really aware of why her mother should speak so sharply. "Mum? What…what are you doing out of bed?" she faltered.

Her mother turned pale and shook as her daughter did. "I asked you a question, young lady," she said, trying to sound stern.

Susan glanced at Peter, hoping that he would help her find words. "I…I…"

Peter swung his legs around and sat up. "Mum, calm down. It's not what you think," he said with authority.

Their mother put her hands on her hips. "And what do I think?"

Peter returned this with a wry look, but Susan's eyes shuttled back and forth between them. She wondered herself what Peter could mean.

Helen didn't argue with her son. She merely made a pronounced "Downstairs. To the study. Both of you," in clipped tones. Then she added the decision which made Susan shake a little on the inside. "Your father will have a thing or two to say about this." She waited on the threshold for the two of them to file out. Susan gave Peter a helpless glance and meekly did as she was told. She could hear him behind her.

Susan stared glumly at the carpet as she went down the stairs. She was afraid without really being sure why. She felt guilty because of her mother's stare, not because she thought she had done anything wrong. Peter took her hand and inquired gently "Su?"

She squeezed his hand and glanced at him as he opened the door of the study. "Peter, what…does she think?"

His face closed off. "You know," he said crisply. "What people have thought before. About us."

She let go of his hand abruptly. "Oh God."

"Su, don't do that," he said. His voice was gentle now, and he actually looked a little hurt. "You and I know it's not true. That's all that matters." He took her hand again.

"Stop it!" she cried, shaking him off. "You'll make it worse!" She went to sit in the leather armchair, shaking.

Peter's eyes flashed. "There's nothing to be made worse! We didn't do anything wrong!" he insisted.

"I know! I know…but…" she put her face in her hands, willing herself not to cry. Peter didn't say anything. He stood beside her and laid a hand on her shoulder. His grip tightened a bit as they heard their father speaking loudly upstairs. Susan looked up at the ceiling, frightened.

"You stick by me," Peter said surely. "We didn't do anything wrong."

"I know we didn't." She bit her lip. "But Dad sounds really angry."

Peter set his jaw stubbornly. "And what if he is? I won't let anyone—anyone—tell me how to love. I've already learned. I know."

She nodded and wiped a single tear away. Her face was very white. She wanted to be as brave as Peter, but she didn't know if she could, not when each of their father's footsteps on the stairs sounded like a judgment against her.

He bent to kiss her cheek and kept his face close to hers. "It's you and me, Susan. Stay close to me, and don't give up."

She gained a little courage from these words, and though she gave him a scared look, she also squeezed his hand. Then she had to push him gently away from her. She could hear their father at the door.

* * *

_A/N: Yes, yes, we know Lewis didn't say anything about them getting married and having kids, but he never ruled out the possibility either. For more info on this, see our profile. And if you're curious about Erech and Susan and their kids Dashiel and Edina or Peter and Amelia and their children Susannah and Lucien, we have plenty of info on them as well and would be happy to post a story on them. Erech and Amelia are fab--even if we are biased._  



	2. Chapter 2

_The whole night was so surreal. To be woken by Helen saying his children were…doing unnatural things, and then to go downstairs and discover that this was probably true…it was more than one man could bear. David walked fast and hard wishing he could find a pub. None were open at that hour, even though he had never needed a stiff drink more in his life._

_Peter and Susan were…he half expected Susan to do something one day. She was too pretty, too good. Somehow he was sure she would take a wrong turn. Just not this one. Peter was far more puzzling. He had always been solid, dependable, obedient. He had been sure he did right as a parent by Peter. He could clearly remember the morning he had left. He had said a tearful goodbye to his family and looked back at them once, wondering if he would ever see them again. He expected the children to be grouped around Helen, but instead they were clustered around Peter. He had one arm around Susan as she watched, tears streaming down her face, while his other arm was around Lucy, who had hidden her face against her older brother. Even from some distance, David could see the wet patch of tears that Lucy made on Peter's shirt, but he didn't squirm or move away. He only held her tighter. Even Edmund hovered close by, allowing Susan to pull him into the group around his first born. For his own part, Peter set his jaw and kept a brave face, refusing to cry even when there were tears all around him. "Like a man," David had thought, and he began to respect his son. When he saw Helen place a hand on her eldest son's shoulder he knew that if anyone would keep his family together it would be Peter. _

_The few hard knocks he had dealt out had been good for the boy—or so he thought. Now he spoke like…like a queer, or a knight errant, or someone gone wrong in the head. He defied his father. He held onto Susan and defended her as…well, as a lover would. David was forced to admit the cold truth, as much as it disgusted him. After going to war, he thought he had seen the worst life had to offer. He was wrong. This was worse by far, not only because it was so disgusting, but because he had failed. Where was the strong young man he had left at the train station? Who was this stranger that had replaced him, a brash boy afraid of nothing and proud of his own sins? Somehow David had lost his family. He had lost his son. He would have paid a hundred pounds for some whiskey._

David pushed the door open and entered the room with angry strides. "Now what's all this?" he demanded.

Peter felt Susan shrink back behind him, so he threw back his shoulders and stuck out his chest. He wouldn't let anything happen to her. Hadn't he promised?

"Is it true, what your mother says?" his father demanded, breathing hard.

Peter hated the suspicion in his eyes. It was galling to be looked at in that way when he had worked so hard to be worthy of honor and trust. "We don't know, because we don't know what she told you," he said calmly.

His father's eyes narrowed. "Watch your tongue, boy," he said before turning to his wife. "Tell them."

Mum shuddered and looked at the floor, speaking in a rushed murmur. "They were in bed together. Holding each other—caressing each other. And she was saying 'Never leave me, Peter. I love you. I'd die without you.' He kissed her."

Peter cast a sidelong glance at Susan and saw that her mouth was open, aghast. For his part, anger and nausea fought with each other.

Susan managed to begin a weak protest. "But…"

Their father rounded on her. "But what? Is it true?"

He could hear Susan's breathing. "Yes…but…it wasn't…" He forced himself not to say anything, not to get angry and make it worse. It was so hard not to, though, with Susan so obviously upset.

Their father curled his lip in his hateful way of showing disdain. "You disgusting girl," he pronounced, while their mother sank into a chair.

Finally Peter's temper flared. "Don't you call her that!"

He couldn't help but feel it was a well timed outburst, since now his father's rage was directed at him instead of at Susan, who was still trembling behind him. He noticed his father's hand curled into a fist at his side as he demanded "Oh, and you feel the same way, do you?"

"And what if I do?" Peter shouted at him. "Susan means the world to me! She's my sister, and I love her." He refused to back down. They thought they could look at him and understand, but they would never have any idea. They would never know who he was, and they would never know Susan. He barely registered his mother, near tearful, imploring "Oh, Peter."

"But what in God's name were you doing in bed together!" Dad roared.

Aggrieved, Susan started to clutch at her hair. He hated to see her do things like that to herself. She would bite too hard on her lip or pull her own hair and seeing her put herself through physical pain tore Peter in two.

"Don't do that, Su," he said softly, trying to convey as much comfort as he could with the words. He turned to face their father. "She had a nightmare," he explained.

Peter had to endure mistrust for the second time. "At her age? Ridiculous!" their father scoffed. "You're not a child, Susan. Don't think you can fool us with that old line. This sort of thing was alright when you were kids, but now it stops."

"But we weren't doing anything wrong!" Peter insisted. He didn't know why their father should doubt him now, but he seemed fixated on the idea that Peter and his sister were doing…Peter couldn't bear to think of it. He wouldn't ever see Susan that way. He was physically incapable of anything but brotherly love.

Susan tried to placate their father. She stepped forward and tentatively touched his arm, beseeching. "Dad…Daddy…please…"

The tremble in her voice moved Peter, but their father was as hard and immoveable as granite. He shook her off, looking so revolted that Peter's eyes flashed with fury. Susan made another essay, even though she was bright red, and David shook her off more violently this time and slapped her across the face. "You stop it! You stop it right now!"

Peter was so angry he didn't stop to think. He couldn't. He was looking through that white hot light that colored everything when he was in a rage. He rushed to stand between his father and his sister with his fists curled and raised. He longed for a sword to draw, but he had none. "Try and hit her again," he defied his father.

"Peter!" his mother gasped. Her reproach was new, and he glanced in her direction. As he did so, he caught sight of Susan clutching her cheek. He remained firm and glared at his father.

"I'll hit you if you keep on, son," his father said, puffing himself up. Peter was neither impressed nor intimidated.

"Go ahead!" Peter challenged. "I won't let you treat Susan that way!"

But now Susan grabbed his arm. "Don't," she begged him. He glanced at her, a little less certain. There wasn't time to make any decisions though, because his father reared back with his fist. He let it hang in the air as if daring himself to hit his son. Peter readied himself. He stood resolute, ready to take whatever might come. He wasn't afraid—he had faced far worse before. He thought of Miraz and glared at his father.

Susan tried to get between them. "No, Dad! No! Leave Peter alone. I went to him…"

"Su, don't. I can take it," he insisted, pushing his sister behind him. "Better me than you."

"It's not your fault, Peter!" she said with an anguished cry.

"Nothing's either of our faults because we didn't do anything wrong!" He was going to stand by Susan whatever it took, but he was infuriated that she could even think of accepting blame. "I won't let him hit you for no reason. I won't."

Their father had been watching them with an expression of horror. He kept his fists up and demanded "Who says I have no reason? What do you call it, then?"

"We were comforting each other," Peter said stoutly.

He scoffed, looking at their mother, but he sounded less certain when he spoke. "Oh? What about? What have you two got to be upset about?"

"Nothing Dad," Susan said, hanging her head.

Peter turned to her, unable to understand how she could understate any part of it, even the pain she was feeling so acutely not a half an hour before. She was burying herself, and he refused to let her. "I'll tell you what," he said to his father.

"Peter—I don't want to talk about it!" she cried.

Their father wasn't listening to her. "Oh yes?" He arched a condescending eyebrow at Peter. "You tell me, then."

Peter spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. "You sent us away in the middle of the war with no one but each other. You have no idea what we went through."

"I couldn't let you stay and have bombs rain down on your heads!" Mum protested, speaking for the first time in a long while.

For his part, Dad turned red. "And I suppose actually fighting war is a picnic, is it?"

"I know it's no picnic," Peter answered gravely, with the unmistakable tone of one who has seen battle.

This made his father reel a little. "As far as I can see, you went off to stay in the country for all of five minutes and had a gay old time! Even Edmund enjoyed himself."

Five minutes…Peter recalled what had been some thirty years for him. The time in which he had grown up, ruled a country and founded a family had been nothing but a handful of moments in this world. "You don't know what happened there," he said heavily.

His father crossed his arms. "Why don't you tell me then?"

"I—I can't," Peter faltered. Susan gave him a sympathetic look and touched his arm. Her touch gave him a little strength and courage, until their father yanked her away.

"You stop that!" he yelled.

"Leave her alone!" Peter roared, as furious that he should lose his best comfort as much as at seeing Susan treated in that way. "What's wrong with her touching my arm?" he demanded. He was going to make his father see how unreasonable he was being; how he was jumping to conclusions.

"She shouldn't be touching you at all!" he insisted irrationally, gripping Susan's arm.

"What madness! We're brother and sister!"

"Exactly!" he shouted, gripping Susan's upper arm so hard she winced.

Peter looked at her. The hopelessness of the situation was beginning to dawn on him. His father thought the worst, and if he tried to acquit himself and Susan with the whole truth, they would think him mad. They might laugh at him, and he couldn't bear that. He didn't know what to do. Susan gazed back at him, and though her eyes were just as hopeless, simply knowing she was there helped. Then she noticed their father's glare and she dropped her eyes to the carpet. Peter felt quite alone.

She started to cry under her hair. He couldn't see the tears, but he could see that her shoulders were shaking. Peter took a step towards her, but her father shook her a little. "You stop that," he said, and Peter thought he sounded downright spiteful.

Susan did stop. She also looked up at her father and shook him off. "Leave me alone," she said, "and leave Peter alone." He wanted to hug her. He knew how much this defiance cost her.

"I'll leave you alone when you learn to behave, and not before," was their father's autocratic reply.

"We already know how to behave," Peter said coldly. He couldn't bear it anymore, being pressed under the weight of a senseless authority.

"Peter, stop being so stubborn. Your father knows best," Mum said quietly and dully.

Her husband took no notice of her. "Apparently you don't! Apparently you have no idea what is appropriate behavior!"

Susan went to stand beside Peter, and Peter glared between his parents, his rage flaring up inside him. He could have done a dozen things to diffuse the situation, but he took Susan's hand. She squeezed it in return, but she would not look up. Peter thought it lucky she didn't, for their father was staring at them with a revolted curl to his lip. "Stop it. I mean it," he said.

Peter was not going to yield. Not when he was right. "No," he said simply.

Now their mother put in another meek protest. "Peter! How can you refuse your father?"

Peter held fast to Susan's hand and looked Mum square in the eyes. "He's wrong."

Susan shook a little beside him, but she didn't pull away. He knew he had to be strong for the both of them. After all they'd been through he wouldn't let anyone tear them apart. She needed him. And, if he was going to be truthful about it, he needed her.

Their father blew into his fist, deciding what to do. "Right. That does it." Peter had just time enough to exchange a worried glance with Susan before the verdict came. "You, young lady, are coming with your mother and me to America next week."

"No!" Susan cried immediately.

Peter felt his heart stop and sink like lead. "You can't!"

"Yes. I can," their father said firmly. "I'm your father."

"Please, Dad. Don't," Peter pleaded, forgetting his pride for a moment. Susan was far more important.

This did nothing. His father turned on him, his eyes flashing. "And you—young man—seeing as you obviously can't be trusted…you will go to Professor Kirke's for the rest of the holidays."

"Dad!" Susan cried. "Please…"

For his part, Peter had no words. He had lived his whole life, in Narnia and in England, trying to be worthy of trust and confidence. He had taken great pains to make it so, and now that was all thrown away with the suspicion of a moment. He reeled a little with the injustice of it all, and he felt that his hand was sweating in Susan's.

"That's my final word," David pronounced.

"I won't go," Peter said, finding his voice at last.

Susan tried another appeal. She moved toward her father, reaching out a trembling hand. He only sneered at it. "Don't you dare touch me. Not unless you want another slap."

"You'll have to hit me before you hit her again," Peter growled.

"Stop this madness!" Mum cried. "You'll do as your father says." Peter took one sidelong glance at her white face, and he thought his mother was a weak woman.

Hearing her mother's voice, Susan tried her other parent. She dropped her hand and turned to her mother. "Mum? Please…don't let him separate us."

She shook a little at her daughter's plea, but she remained unwisely stubborn. "Susan, dear, I think it's for the best."

When he saw the despair creep its way across Susan's features, David glared at Peter. "You see? This is exactly what we mean! This is why we're separating you. You'd think we were tearing her away from her…well, certainly not from her brother!"

"You don't know what you're doing!" Peter cried.

"It's unhealthy!" David insisted.

"You don't know!" he shouted back, and he was a little surprised to find that his voice was slightly ragged with tears.

"What don't I know! I know enough—you were in bed with your sister for God's sake!" his father stormed.

"It wasn't like that!" He didn't know what to do. He couldn't explain any more than that, but his father refused to believe.

"Then what _was_ it like? What in the hell reason could you have to be in bed with your sister? And don't give me that nightmare rubbish."

Peter knew this was his chance. He had to say something now, while his father was listening. He went for broke. "Haven't you ever felt so empty, after a loss, that you just needed someone to hold you?"

"Hush," Mum said with a tremble. "Don't speak of things you don't know about."

Peter might have gone on; might have won his mother over. He might have been able to make some eloquence out of his sense of loss, but his father said with an uncomfortable sneer "You sound like a queer, son. I don't know which is worse."

"Shut up!" Susan screamed, very white. "Shut up!" Peter knew she was thinking of Edmund, just as he was. He couldn't say anything, though. He was concentrating on not hitting his father.

David raised his hand to Susan again. She jumped back even as Peter pushed her behind him. "Don't you do it!" he roared.

His father glared at him. "I'll do what I like. She's my daughter, and _you_ are my son, and if you don't like it you know what you can do!"

"What, leave? Maybe I will!" Peter said brazenly.

He was instantly reminded not only of the impossibility but the foolishness of this statement by Susan. "Peter…don't leave me," she begged, and he was instantly pricked by guilt. He turned to her and put his hands on her arms. "I won't," he said with contrition. "I promised." She looked up at him with tears in her eyes.

Out of the corner of his eye Peter saw his father clench his fists. "You're disgusting, the pair of you."

Peter found his regal gravity even in the midst of his anger, and when he spoke he heard himself use the voice he so often employed as High King. "Don't say that about Susan," he commanded. "Say what you like about me, but you can't insult a lady like that."

David laughed bitterly. "A _lady_? Listen to you! Who do you think you are, a knight errant?"

Peter stuck out his jaw and said nothing.

"Well, you're not," his father continued. "You're a kid, and you're under my roof. This 'lady' is your little sister, with whom you have just been found in bed…so don't you try to tell _me_ about right and wrong!"

"I know more than you think," Peter insisted quietly.

"You know nothing!" he spat in return.

Peter kept his voice low, refusing to shout at a lesser man, but his tone was unmistakably dangerous. "I know that Susan is every inch a lady."

Susan looked at him, her eyes filling. He saw the fear in them too, though, and he had to restrain from putting his head in his hands. How had this all gone so horribly wrong? Weren't things miserable enough already?

"Listen to yourself!" his father cried. "You sound like you're in love with her!"

"I'm not 'in love' with her," Peter said quietly. "I love her. I'm not ashamed of that."

Susan winced as she looked between them. "Dad, really…it's not like that. It's not…it never has been."

"Never," Peter vowed.

Susan nodded with wide eyes, trying to make him understand. Their father remained cold and cruel. "Don't you give him those puppy-dog eyes. They don't work on me. You will do as you're told."

There was a low, animal-like noise from the chair, and Peter realized his mother had been crying for some time. He didn't care, though. He thought of Susan and how hard she cried in his arms, and he knew he needed to be there for her. He had promised. "Don't, Dad," he said aloud. "This won't make us change."

"I _will_ make you change!" his father raved. "I'll make you see! You're not to see one another until you can learn to be normal!"

"Please, Dad!" Susan cried.

"We _are_ normal!" Peter said. Everything was slipping away too fast. He kept insisting, and his father refused to listen. They were going round in circles, but he couldn't give up and he didn't see any other way.

"No!" David thundered. "You're abnormal! What you're doing…it's wrong. And I'm going to put a stop to it once and for all." Peter saw his father move for him and he steeled himself to fight. Even if he wasn't the warrior he was in Narnia, he would face his father. He was not going to let himself be punished for nothing. He squared his shoulders.

Seeing this, though, his father apparently decided he was too big to tangle with, so he snatched at Susan and dragged her from the room. In all the years he had been High King he had never seen anyone disrespect Susan so, and he wasn't about to let that start. He sprang after them.

_A/N: If there are any mistakes in this, blame me (Francienyc) and not rooty-boots. I'm posting this while she's globe-trotting and I'm sitting at home bored. So review and make me happy (and less bored) and give rooty a coming-home present._


	3. Chapter 3

_Helen didn't sleep that night. She had hoped she had been mistaken, that when they got downstairs Peter and Susan would show her she was wrong. Maybe she still was. She didn't know. But David thought they were…and she had to stand by him. That was her duty. Even though she had actually been sick in the bathroom thinking this might be true, she couldn't deny it. David was right. They had to take Susan to America, get her away from her brother. If they spent some time apart, Susan might find another boy. She was a little more bendable—Helen saw that part of herself in her daughter._

_She turned into the pillow and sobbed. She knew that Peter wouldn't change. If he loved his sister as a man and not a brother, he would continue to love her. He held on, like his father. She should have stopped this when it was beginning, turned him away from his sister. But how could she have stopped something she never knew about?__ Helen tried to think back, groping around in her memory in a bleak attempt to pinpoint where things had gone so wrong. Peter had always been so kind and courteous to his sister. One might even say chivalrous, if it didn't sound ridiculous in that day and age. He would open doors, offer his hand to help Susan down from the bus, kiss her goodnight. It had seemed sweet, at the time. But suppose…perhaps this was not chivalry, but the gestures of young romance. What had seemed sweet now turned sickening._

_She thought back. During the war she had been so grateful for her two eldest. They helped her more than she could say. Times had been so hard, and she was often doing volunteer work or, though David didn't know about it, seeking the occasional odd job to put enough food on the table to feed four growing children. She knew she could entrust Edmund and Lucy to Peter and Susan's care. She was even forced to admit that they were better disciplinarians than she when it came to Edmund. When they came back to her safe and sound, though with some kind of odd wisdom hanging around them, she could only be grateful. In truth, she had only been thinking of having her family survive the war and the bombings. Now that they were all together she was forced to pay for her negligence of other matters. She would have to tell David this was all her fault._

_When she married David she knew she wasn't in love. Not in that storybook way. He was dependable and strong and good, and that was enough for her. She knew he would give her a good life, and she in turn would give him a good family. She had been right. They had four lovely children—even Edmund turned out right in the end, despite his rough patch. She had never, ever expected this. She thought she had escaped all the screaming rows, but here was David yanking on Susan's hair and Peter screaming and banging on doors. He was too old for Edmund's temper tantrums. At 17, she knew his anger was real and serious, and David matched it inch for inch. Lucy sobbed more than she had ever seen the girl cry, and even Edmund grew willful. Just as she hadn't been able to prevent this situation, she was equally powerless to put a stop to it. Her family was falling apart before her eyes, and she couldn't help but think it her fault._

Lucy heard the yelling downstairs through her sleep. She thought that Peter was storming about Calormen or the giants, or perhaps the gall of Susan's latest suitor. She thought she should get up—after all she was Queen too, and all these affairs concerned her—but it was hard because she was so comfortable. Peter shouted particularly loudly, and her eyes pulled open at last, feeling as though her eyelids were lined with sandpaper.

Every time she woke up, Lucy had to adjust to the rush of disappointment that she was not in Narnia. Sometimes she knew right away, but other times, when the moonlight streamed in through the window, changing the shape of things, she needed a few minutes to realize. That night she knew as soon as she woke up. She could hear Peter shouting, but his voice didn't have the deep timbre of the High King. She sighed.

Then she realized that in England Peter hardly ever yelled. Something was wrong. She sat up a little and looked over at Susan's bed, expecting to exchange a wide-eyed stare with her sister. Susan wasn't there. The shouting continued, and she realized her father was yelling as well, yelling at Peter, and that gave her a little stab of panic. She slid out of bed and padded hurriedly down the hall to Edmund's room.

She thought she would have to wake him, but he was already sitting up in bed, hugging his knees. "You heard them," he said rather bleakly. He stretched out an arm and Lucy sat next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"What's going on?" she asked, and her voice was smaller than she wanted it to sound.

Edmund shook his head, and his hair fell in his eyes. "I don't know. I haven't ever heard Peter shout like this here. I mean, not unless it was at me."

Lucy started to snuggle a little closer to him, but all of a sudden the shouting got louder. They could hear what everyone was saying clearly, and from the bumps and approach of voices it sounded like everyone was coming upstairs. The first thing they heard was Peter shouting "Leave her alone! Dad, please!" and Susan sobbing painfully.

She exchanged a wide-eyed look with Edmund, and he threw back the covers of his bed and rushed into the hall. She was on his heels. They went to the head of the stairs, where the scene that greeted Lucy was both horrific and surreal. Daddy, usually so calm and steady, was purple with rage as he dragged Susan up the stairs. He must have been holding very tightly to her arm, for she was wincing even as she cried. A few stairs below, Peter was pulling on her other arm, his eyes very wide as he repeated "Let her go! Let her go!"

The most disturbing part of the scene for Lucy was their mother. She merely stood at the bottom of the stairs with tears streaming down her face, choking out sobs. When Susan pleaded for help from her, she could only hiccough "It's for the best, dear."

Lucy touched Edmund's hand, and this seemed to help him find his voice. "What on earth is going on!" he demanded. "What's all the shouting?"

When they heard his voice, everyone froze and looked up and her and Edmund. Peter and Daddy said nothing, they merely yanked tighter on Susan. Mum turned paler and stopped crying enough to command with some desperation "Children! Go to bed!" though of course neither Lucy nor Edmund moved. Susan turned imploring eyes onto her other brother and cried "Edmund!"

Lucy felt Edmund leave her side. He ran halfway down the stairs to his father and laid a hand on his father's shoulder. He was so calm and self possessed in the face of all of this that Lucy couldn't help but admire him. "Dad," he said quietly, "Let go of Susan."

Peter stopped tugging on Susan and looked up at Edmund. Though Ed hadn't issued the command to Peter, he listened all the same. Daddy didn't heed Edmund's voice of reason. "I will not!" he growled. "Go back to bed! This does not concern you."

Lucy didn't want to cry, not as though she was a little girl. She wanted to be calm like Edmund, but she couldn't help that tears sprung to her eyes. Daddy had never been so mean, not that she ever knew. He never yelled, he never screamed. He was hurting Susan, Peter was clearly upset, and she had no idea why any of this was happening. She only wanted it to stop. "Daddy, please," she said. "Let her go." But her father turned away.

"Let go, Peter, unless you want to rip her arm off," he declared.

Lucy saw the indecision in her brother's eyes. He was torn between his principles and the safety of his sister, and he looked to Susan. Lucy knew he was checking to see how much she could endure, how far he could follow this fight without breaking her. She knew, because he had given Lucy herself that look so often when they were in battle.

For her part, Susan glared at her father and said in a voice that carried nothing but disdain "I hate you."

Her mother remonstrated her with a sharp "Susan!" and Peter tensed, ready to protect her, but Lucy felt her eyes widen. What was happening that could make Susan say this? What was going on in their family? Was she hearing right? Yes, because Susan repeated it, tossing her hair. "I do. I hate you."

Daddy's face contorted so that it was truly ugly in his anger. While everyone else stood frozen he gave Susan's arm one last pull and wrenched her from Peter's grasp. He pushed past Edmund and dragged her the rest of the way up the stairs. "Dad!" Edmund gasped in horror.

Lucy wanted to say something, but her voice was caught in her throat. She watched as her father pulled her sister down the hall and Peter sprang after them. "Edmund—help me!" he cried, and Edmund immediately ran to Peter's side

Peter was too slow. Her father shoved Susan into the spare bedroom and slammed the door, holding it shut. "Get the key, Helen," he commanded. Lucy didn't turn away—she couldn't turn away—but she heard her mother going down the stairs and rummaging through the secretary, rifling through the drawers, and sniffling all the while.

"Dad, don't lock her in. You can't," Peter pleaded. Lucy shut her eyes, hating to hear her oldest brother beg for anything. In the next second, however, he was the High King again and he told his father point blank "I won't let you do this."

Lucy saw the look her father fixed on Peter. His eyes were bulging and his face was purple and in truth, he looked absolutely terrifying. "Be _quiet_, damn it!" he yelled, so loud that Lucy flinched.

Peter matched his volume, roaring "I won't!" That was when Susan started banging on the door. Edmund called to her, but she didn't answer. She only banged and shouted "Let me out! Dad! Let me out, you bastard!"

Lucy's jaw dropped, and Peter looked nonplussed for a moment as well. "Susan, don't!" he counseled. "You'll only make it worse."

It was too late. Daddy wrenched the door open, his face still purple but his eyes narrow now, and he grabbed Susan by the hair. "Don't you _dare_ speak to me that way!" he breathed. Lucy wanted to cry out, but the best she could manage was a strangled gagging noise.

Mum was upstairs now, holding out the key. Lucy turned to her, hoping to find some comfort somewhere, but her mother was shaking so hard that she dropped the key. Instead of saying something, instead of getting Daddy to let go of Susan, she fell to her knees searching for it. Lucy stared at her a moment, wondering where her mother's strength was. She balled her hand into a tight little fist.

Meanwhile she heard scuffling behind her and saw that Edmund had succeeded in pinning Dad to the wall. "Stop it," he commanded quietly, and Lucy found herself immensely grateful for her level headed brother. She kept her eyes on him, hoping that he could calm their family and maybe herself as well. She saw Peter take Susan in his arms and ask her if she was alright only out of the corner of her eye. She focused on Edmund.

Dad struggled against him. "Get off me!" he spat. He sounded petty and childish against Edmund's even but dangerous reply "Not until you calm down."

The problem was that Edmund was hardly fourteen, no longer a hardened and battle proven king. Dad pushed Edmund off him with only a moment more of struggling and dusted himself down, looking at his younger son with scorn. He turned now to his older children. Peter was hugging Susan tightly and vowing "We'll stay together." Lucy didn't know what was so inflammatory about this, but her father spoke with a clear warning in his voice. "Get off her. You get off her right now, or God help me…"

"I won't," Peter said simply, holding Susan even tighter.

She hugged him back. "I have to get out of here," she said flatly.

Lucy didn't know what to make of any of this. She didn't understand what was going on or why Daddy and Peter were so angry and what had pushed Susan over the edge, making her so upset. She didn't know why her mother was still on her hands and knees searching for a key that was no longer needed. But when she heard Susan ask to run away and Peter nod in agreement and say "Where do you want to go?" her insides turned cold.

"I want to go home," Susan said, her eyes filling with tears. Lucy looked at her brothers. Peter closed his eyes, his jaw tight, and Edmund was pinching the bridge of his nose. They were willing themselves not to cry, and that made Lucy want to break down more than anything that had come before. She crept close to Edmund.

Edmund took Susan's hand. "Don't go. Please," he pleaded.

"Ed, it's for the best," Peter explained. "Just for awhile. Then you can come with us."

"None of you are going anywhere," Daddy cut through with a shaking voice. "Susan is coming to America. Peter's going to Gloucestershire. And then we'll all come back here and things will go back to normal."

"No. No," Peter repeated, and as he did, Edmund put his arm around Lucy. That was when she started to cry.

"Daddy, why are you doing this to us?" she said, not understanding anything except their impending separation. She couldn't stop her tears at the thought of it. She broke away from Edmund to plead with her father. "We only want to be together."

He looked at her for a long moment, and when he spoke, he was close to tears himself. "It's not normal, baby. It's not right. I can't let it happen." Lucy bit her lip, torn between her fear of losing her family and her frustration. No one ever explained anything to her anymore. She was a baby, a child. "It's for your own good," Daddy added, employing what was possibly one of the most infuriating grown up expressions.

"Please don't," she said, fixing her eyes on his.

"I have to, Lucy. I have to."

She looked over at her siblings. Peter had Susan wrapped in his arms, which Lucy knew was one of this safest places in this world or any other. Edmund was gripping Susan's hand, a gesture which always inspired Lucy with confidence and infused her with strength. "Please," she said, the tears running down her cheeks. "I need them."

For the first time in Lucy's memory, her father yelled at her. "You don't! They're not your parents! We are!" Her eyes widened in surprise and she shrank against Edmund, who put his arm around her and drew her close, even while he was still holding Susan's hand.

"Dad, don't yell at Lucy," Peter said with gravity. "You knew full well she's done nothing wrong."

"I…" he began, but he looked at Lucy and he froze. "Oh!" he cried, a monosyllable of frustration, and he hared off down the stairs. When he got to the bottom he wrenched his jacket off the coat stand and threw it on.

"Where are you going?" Mum's voice sounded piteous through her tears. Edmund asked the same question at almost the same moment, and his voice cracked on a note of panic.

He didn't stop to look at any of them as he reached for the door handle. "Out…to the pub…I don't care."

"David…no!" Mum cried, running down the stairs to stop him. She was too far behind. He gave her one backwards glance and slammed out of the house. Mum sunk down onto the stairs sobbing.

Susan screwed her face up. She turned to Peter and put her arms around his neck, crying. And Peter…he held Susan to him and buried his face in her neck. Was he crying? Was Peter actually crying? Lucy couldn't be sure, but the possibility hit her heart like a hammer.

"The pub won't even be open at this time of night," Edmund said flatly.

Lucy turned to him. "He'll be back, won't he?"

"I don't even care," Peter said bitterly.

Edmund gave her a squeeze. "Don't worry, Lu. You've got us, whatever happens."

She nodded and let her head drop onto his shoulder. "I want to go home too," she said softly.

"Me too. Me too…" Edmund agreed, his voice hoarse. Lucy hid her face against him. What had happened? Why was Daddy so mad that he couldn't stand to look at Peter and Susan? Usually he was so proud of them. Why were Peter and Susan so distraught? Yes, Susan hadn't been the same since they got back from Narnia, but that was more of a cold sadness. Lucy hadn't seen her like this at all in England, not since that very first night after they stumbled out of the wardrobe. And Peter…Peter was never distraught. When everyone else was losing their heads, Peter was her rock. She bit her lip and clung to Edmund, her head reeling with possibilities. Maybe Mum and Dad had found out about Narnia. Maybe they thought that all four of them were mad, though Dad seemed to be angry more at Peter and Susan. Maybe because they were older. She didn't know, and she didn't know what to do and she wished that Caspian would wind Susan's horn and pull them all away right then and there, take her and the others into Narnia and away from that awful feeling like all her safety was crumbling around her ears.

Susan broke away from Peter and started to go down the steps to her mother. Lucy heard the movement before she saw it, and when she looked at Susan she saw her face was blank. Susan had a way of erasing pain from her face. She picked up the key to the spare room and offered it to her mother.

Mum didn't even seem to notice. She sat hunched on the steps and continued to sob, a soft keening sound.

Susan sat beside her. "Mum…I'm sorry."

Lucy felt Edmund start to stroke her hair. She looked up into his face and saw that his eyes were very anxious.

"It's not normal. It's not normal," Mum said through her tears. "I thought Alberta was out of her mind, but it's true. Susan, my beautiful girl, how could you?"

"I didn't _do_ anything, Mum! Neither did Peter! He was just hugging me. That's all!" Susan balled up her fists.

Lucy's mouth dropped open. Surely they weren't saying…surely not. Not here as well.

Peter had risen to his feet beside her and Edmund. "God, this makes me sick," he muttered.

Edmund winced and looked at Peter. "I know. What happened?"

"She came into my room, and she was crying about Erech," Peter said, his eyes fixed on some point on the wall. "I held her. That's all. But Mum came in, and she thought…" His face twisted, and he couldn't seem to say anymore.

"Again," Edmund said heavily. "I thought we'd been through all this already in Narnia." So they were talking about what Lucy feared. This was worse than being thought mad.

Susan was still pleading. "Mum…please. Please don't send me away. Don't split us up. Please."

Her pleas were heartwrenching, but Mum only said "We must do as your father says," and wiped the corners of her eyes with the hem of her dressing gown.

"No! No, he's crazy!" Susan cried.

"He's not crazy," Mum said in a soft voice. "Don't say that."

Susan rose. Up until this moment, Lucy thought that Susan and Mum looked alike and sounded alike. Their grief had the same shape and the same sound, the lilting voice of weeping. When Susan stood, she showed the difference between them. When Susan stood she looked like a Queen, even though the tears were still wet on her cheeks. "I will! He's crazy if he thinks that Peter and I would…that's disgusting! How can he!"

"What are we supposed to think, Susan?" Mum said wetly, sniffing. "Brothers and sisters aren't supposed to act like that…not at your age."

Peter moved forward down the stairs and laid his hands on Susan's shoulders. "It's not about normal anymore, Mum." Next to Lucy, Edmund grimaced and shook his head. Lucy knew Peter had said the wrong thing.

Mum dissolved into more tears. "Peter don't. You were such a good boy. I used to be able to count on you."

"You can," Peter said. "More than ever." Lucy believed him with her whole heart.

His words apparently gave Susan courage as well. "Look, Mum…I know that you and Uncle Harold never really got on, but Peter and I…we're just…we're close, that's all.. It's not wrong."

"Exactly," Peter joined in. "We've been through a lot together."

"I was really upset tonight, and Peter just gave me a hug and talked to me…that's all. You have to believe me," Susan said, looking at her mother with steady eyes but trembling lips.

Mum looked up at them. "But what about what I heard you say? 'I'd die without you'?"

Susan turned her head to glance at Peter then looked back at Mum. "Well…I would! I need Peter. He's my best friend." Lucy saw Peter grip Susan's shoulders tighter when he heard this. "But," Susan continued, "I would _never_ do anything like what you're thinking."

"_Never_, Mum," Peter added emphatically.

"You do believe us, don't you?" Susan said, and Lucy couldn't see how anyone could do anything but believe them.

Yet all Mum did was put up her hands in protest and say "Children, don't. It's out of my hands. The decision is your father's, and I shall stick by whatever he says."

"That…that's a lot of rot. She can make decisions too," Lucy whispered fervently. Edmund nodded. She clung to her brother and whispered, "Edmund, what are we going to do if they separate us?"

He hugged her tight, brushing the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. "I don't know." He shook his head and repeated "I don't know." Lucy felt cold on the inside. Edmund always knew what to do. She trusted him to know.

"You have to talk to Dad! _Make_ him listen!" Susan cried desperately.

Mum only shook her head. "You know your father. He won't back down now. I can't change his mind, and he's head of this household. We must obey him. _All_ of us," she added, looking hard at Peter.

Now Susan said the thing that really made Lucy's heart freeze over. In her very soft voice she said simply "Then I can't stay."

"Susan, don't," Mum said, shaking her head. "Don't run away. What will become of you?"

"Well what else can I do? He's going to lock me in the spare room for a week! And then he's going to make me go away to bloody America! I won't go. I won't," Susan vowed.

"Don't…don't you think it might be good for you?" Mum asked. Her voice was soft too, but it had none of Susan's resonance and resolution.

"No! It would kill me. I need Peter _and_ Edmund _and_ Lucy. And they need me."

"Darling, no. It won't kill you. Why would you say that? It's just a holiday?" Mum said, trying to sound soothing.

"She's right," Peter added, and his tone was so resonant and his face so set that Mum seemed to deflate before him.

She shook her head, giving up the argument. "Your father said." She rose, and Lucy thought that her eyes were very dull. "I'm going to bed. Hopefully your father will be home by morning."

"Well maybe I won't be," Susan muttered rebelliously under her breath.

Helen gave one last look at Peter and Susan, and Lucy saw both scorn and regret in her mother's face. "We must abide by his decision," she said mounting the stairs. Susan pressed against the wall to let her mother pass, avoiding eye contact. Edmund scowled at her as she approached. Mum barely seemed to see him or Lucy, but she said "Goodnight children," in a laconic voice and laid her hand on Lucy's head. Lucy felt her fingers shaking. Mum would have done the same to Edmund, but he shrank from his mother as he hadn't done since the time they said goodbye at the train platform. Her eyebrows rose ever so slightly, but other than that her face was blank as she turned from them. She went into her room and shut the door with a dull thud.

Lucy looked at the door to her parents' room for a moment, but then Edmund guided her down the stairs to where Peter and Susan were standing. Peter pulled all three of them into a hug, and they stood together, subdued. Finally Susan murmured "Oh Aslan! Let us come back…if we ever needed him, now is the time…" and Edmund kissed her hair. Lucy couldn't bear it anymore. She couldn't bear to see all this pain for no reason; she couldn't bear to think her family was falling apart. She broke down into sobs.

Susan pulled away from the embrace with a sniff. "I've got to go."

"Don't—wait for me," Peter said, letting go of Edmund and Lucy. "I'll come with you."

"That'll just make things worse, won't it? They'll say we ran away to be together," she replied.

Edmund spoke the words that Lucy couldn't form. "Don't go…not without us."

Peter ignored him, or seemed to. "It doesn't matter! We promised to be together!" Young though she was, even Lucy caught the irony of this statement. Being together meant all four of them, but he was only talking about him and Susan.

"Let's all go!" Edmund said. Lucy nodded. She would go anywhere they went.

"Ed, no…you've got school," Susan said in her kindest, saddest motherly tone.

"You've got to finish," Peter added.

Edmund's face twisted, and he spat furiously "To hell with bloody school!"

Peter and Susan both shook their heads. They didn't even chide Edmund for his language.

Lucy started to feel very cold and very bleak. She looked from Peter to Susan, unable to believe this was happening. "So you're just going to leave us?" she asked, and her voice was very small.

"No, they're not!" Edmund spat. "They're going to take us with them."

But Peter was still shaking his head. "Not forever. Just for a little while, until we get settled." Susan sank down onto the step, and Peter laid his hand on her head for comfort while he spoke. "I can find work to take care of me and Susan, but I don't know about you two yet. I couldn't bear to see you starving. And Ed, you need to finish school. You're meant to go to university. You're too smart not to."

Lucy shook her head. Surely, surely Peter wasn't saying this. He wasn't suggesting they separate. Surely. She pinched her arm, hoping to wake up from the bad dream. Nothing happened except that Edmund replied, still nearly spitting with anger.

"I don't give a shit," he declared. "I can work too..I can help support us. I can go to university later."

"Don't talk like that," Peter remonstrated wearily. "You're too young yet. Listen, I promise you—both of you—that we will be together. All four of us. We just have to be patient."

Lucy didn't know whether she wanted to sob and cling to Peter or beat at his chest. How could they be together if he was talking about separation now? They'd always gotten through everything together. Did he think she and Edmund were worthless now that they were back in England and children again? Could he really think that after everything? Could she bear not knowing where Peter was, not being able to call on him for comfort?

Edmund shook his head. "No…don't leave us."

She wanted to add to his plea, but she couldn't speak. She shook a little and reached out for Edmund's hand. She needed some kind of anchor. Perhaps he did as well, because he wrapped his arms around Lucy.

"Lu…Lucy," Peter said softly. She looked up at him from the shelter of Edmund's arms. "You know I wouldn't ever break my word to you. You must trust in me."

She bit her lip and looked up at Edmund. He didn't look ready to trust in this plan. He looked hurt, just as hurt as she felt that Peter could so much as suggest this. Susan got up and came over to join them, standing by Peter's shoulder. Lucy thought of them leaving her, of vanishing from her life, and she couldn't bear it. She hid her face against Edmund and wrapped her arms around him. She needed someone, and Edmund was turning out to be the truest of them all. He kissed the top of her head.

Then there was the familiar click and jingle of a key turning in the lock. All four of them turned to the door, and Peter moved to a lower step to stand in front of his siblings. Daddy came in with his head bowed—looking defeated, Lucy thought. Slowly he raised his head to look at them. "Get to bed—all of you," he said through gritted teeth. He looked hard at Lucy and Edmund and added with a snarl "And _not _together." He shook his head and put his foot on the lowest step. "What did I _do_ to deserve such a family?"

Lucy had never felt so alone. Peter and Susan were leaving, her father thought she was a curse on him, her mother had given up. All she had was Edmund, and she clung to him, praying that he wouldn't push her off too. Even Aslan seemed far away in that moment. She couldn't help but shed a few fresh tears, turning her head into Edmund's neck.

"Dad. Stop it," Susan said.

He only pushed past her as he started to climb the stairs. At the top, he turned and stood silent for so long that Lucy looked up. The man she saw seemed so different from her Daddy. He was a man who looked twenty years older, a man with no life in his eyes and sagging shoulders. "I've failed you all," he said, his voice rasping, "And I'm going to put it right. Susan—go upstairs."

Lucy bit her lip. If Susan was going to run away, she would do it now. Already she could see her sister sprinting down the stairs and slipping out the door, perhaps with Peter on her heels. But Susan locked eyes with Lucy, and she could see the indecision in her sister's eyes. Then Peter whispered "Don't leave. Please. Stay with me," and Susan's resolve seemed to weaken even further.

"Just for tonight…I need to know where you are. I have to keep you all apart," Dad said, still in that weary voice. Tears started to run down Susan's cheeks. He saw her indecision and added "Be good, for me." He rubbed his face and said in a more commanding voice "Susan. Bring the key."

"What are you going to do?" Lucy asked fearfully.

Susan already knew. "Dad…please. Don't lock me in. I'm…I'm scared to be alone." Lucy knew the truth of this. She wondered how she could manage to be there for Susan.

Susan's pleas only seemed to energize their father to stubbornness and anger. "Don't be ridiculous. You're too old for that nonsense now." When she heard this, the tears ran faster down Susan's cheeks. Peter took her hand, and Lucy saw that he was prepared to defend her.

When he saw this, Dad's face contorted. "Either she goes in there or you do, Peter. I mean it."

"Then I'll go," Peter said simply. "Leave Susan with Lucy."

"Fine," Dad answered.

Susan's eyes grew round. "No, Peter…" She shook her head.

Edmund's arms dropped to his sides. "Oh god," he said, sounding as though he was going to be sick.

Peter gave curt nod and started to climb the stairs. "Peter…" Susan pleaded, but she didn't seem to know how to finish the sentence.

As he passed her, he kissed her forehead. "Better me than you, Susan. I'll be alright."

She burst into tears. "No! You can't lock him up! You can't!"

"Now, son," Dad said, and his voice broke as well. Lucy felt sure this must be a dream. Peter, being locked up like a prisoner? How could this possibly be real?

"For crying out loud, Dad!" Edmund cried.

Dad ignored him. "Peter…get in there. I won't wait all day."

Peter looked at Edmund and Lucy and gave Susan a nod. "Stay with Edmund and Lucy." Before anyone could say anything further, Peter had stepped into the spare room and Dad had given him a nod and shut the door. Lucy felt her heart sink, and Susan's face was white. "I will!" she called to Peter. There seemed so much more than a door between them.

Lucy could bear this no longer. She tore herself away from Edmund and went to her father. "Daddy, don't! Not Peter, please," she said, looking up at her father.

He didn't even look at her. He only said "Bring me the key, Susan."

"No! I won't!" Susan cried. "Damn you!"

"Bring me the key," he repeated with a catch in his voice.

"Daddy, please," Lucy repeated, taking her father's hand in her own two small ones. He barely even seemed to notice.

Meanwhile, Edmund came up the stairs and laid a hand on Susan's shoulder. She broke away, though, and went to the landing window. She wrenched it open and threw the key to the spare room into the dark garden, crying "Go get it yourself! I hate you!" With that, she marched down the corridor and went into Peter's room, slamming the door.

Edmund stared after her and gave a low groan, but Lucy looked at her father and made another essay. She still held his hand, and she looked up into his face and said "Please let him go."

He looked down at her now, seeming to see her there for almost the first time. He lifted his hand and grazed her cheek with his knuckles, an old gesture of affection that had passed between them many times. But he said "Go find the key for me, sweetheart? For Daddy?"

Lucy bit her lip and shook her head. Nothing in the world could make her betray Peter or Susan. "I can't," she said simply.

He dropped his hand from her cheek.

"Just let him go," she added, trying hard not to cry.

He bit his lip and shook his head. "I can't," he answered, his tone echoing hers.

Now the tears spilled over. All she said was "Oh, Daddy," but she could hear the sense of betrayal in her own voice. She never expected her father to let her down. Not like this.

"Dad…this is madness," Edmund said thickly.

"I'm doing it for their own good," he answered.

"But you've got it all wrong!" Ed protested. Lucy nodded fervently in support of this.

He sighed. "I wish I could believe you. You're good kids. But I can't…"

"Dad—" Edmund began, but Daddy cut him off.

"No, Edmund," he said in no uncertain terms.

"Daddy please," Lucy said again, but he was back to ignoring her.

He turned to the door, his movements slow as if his body was too heavy for him to move. "Peter," he called, "You will stay in there until morning. You will not come out. Do I have your word?"

Peter's voice sounded hollow and far away. "Yes. You have my word." Just like that, Lucy knew that everything was a lost cause now. If Peter had promised, nothing would make him go back on his word. She dropped her father's hand.

Her father nodded, then turned on his heel and marched along the corridor to Peter's door. He raised his hand to knock, but his eyes were still trained downward. He froze, looking at the doorknob. His hand moved jerkily, but he turned the key and withdrew it from the lock, dropping it into his pocket.

"Dad!" Edmund gasped.

"You were going to lock Peter in!" cried Lucy. "He gave you his word!"

His mouth was set in a grim line, and his face was gray. "Well, now thanks to Susan, I can't do that. She's made her own bed. And I have to be sure…I have to be sure…" He shook his head one last time and went down the hall to his own bedroom. Lucy stared after him, covering her mouth with her hand. Where was her family? Where had they all gone? Who was that weeping woman who had been on her knees in the hallway? Who was this man with the cruel mouth and hard eyes? Where were the High King and Queen Susan? Was it true that they were little more than prisoners? She had never been up at that hour of the night before in London, and the shapes and shadows in the hall were unfamiliar. She and Edmund couldn't even find words to say goodnight. She moved down the hall to her own room, and as she crawled under the covers, looking at the heap of blankets on Susan's unmade bed, she realized she had never been so scared in her life. For the first time, she was unsure where Aslan was.


End file.
